


worse things waiting

by sabinelagrande



Series: two flints [6]
Category: Taskmaster (UK TV) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Criminals, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Captivity, Consensual bondage, Crowning Moment of Badass, Happy Ending, Intimidation, Kidnapping, M/M, Non-Consensual Bondage, Relationship Negotiation, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-22 15:02:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22951378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabinelagrande/pseuds/sabinelagrande
Summary: Something of the Taskmaster's has been taken, and this will not stand.
Relationships: Greg Davies/Alex Horne
Series: two flints [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1639948
Comments: 5
Kudos: 69





	worse things waiting

The fact they get Alex at all is a miracle.

He fights off the first two or three of them, but they've come prepared. People are not supposed to know how capable a fighter Alex is; they've learned from somewhere, because one of them gets a bag over his head almost immediately and cinches it around his neck. He's still swinging after they do, still connecting, and if he just starts running, he should manage to get away.

Except that one of them knocks his feet out from under him, and Alex lands hard on the pavement. He feels sheer panic overtake him, and he lashes out, kicking and clawing.

Then there's a pain in his head, and another, and then there's nothing.

\--

It doesn't really occur to Greg to get concerned about Alex's absence. Alex does have things that keep him out of the House, some of which are related to the Taskmaster and some of which are not. Greg doesn't think much about it; it's probably nothing.

"Has anybody seen Alex?" Tim says, as he walks into the back room.

"What?" the Taskmaster says, frowning.

"He was supposed to meet me, and he never showed," Tim says.

That makes the Taskmaster take notice; Tim, Ed, and Alex are not unlike Rhod, Roisin, and Greg. If there's anyone Alex wouldn't stand up, it's Tim.

The curtain moves again, and this time it's Jon; Jon doesn't come to the back room much, busy with his work up front. "A kid just tried to come in," he says. "He gave me this." He holds up an envelope, handing it off to Greg.

The envelope looks like a mockery of the neatly packaged missives that Alex sends; there's a glob of sealing wax, but it's been pressed down with someone's thumb, which must have been very painful. Greg has a terrible feeling about this, but he breaks the seal and opens it up. The page only has two lines:

_We've got your assistant._

_Wait for instructions._

\--

Alex just manages not to open his eyes when he wakes up; he forgets for a moment why he shouldn't, but then it comes back to him. Someone has stripped him down to his trousers, but wherever he is is warm enough that his skin isn't chilly. He's bound feet and wrists, a length of rope tied between the two of them to keep him from kicking. A measure of skill, then; at least he's being held by someone or someones who knows not to hogtie their victim, as that can leave them dead sooner than planned.

He continues to catalog his situation, as quickly as he can, before they realize he's awake. His thumb is killing him, but not like it's broken. His wrists are secured to something, perhaps a pipe. The position is uncomfortable, but not as bad as it could be. He's not sure what that means. Do they intend to give him a break, or is it an indication that he'll be here a while?

"He's come to," someone says, and Alex stops pretending to be unconscious. He feels something in his mouth, something small but sharp; he spits it out, only to realize it's part of a tooth. It is, as he determines quickly, part of his front tooth, which is less than ideal.

"Good morning, sweetheart," one of the goons says, standing over him. He's thin in an unpleasant way, with a face that makes him look like a weasel. Alex says nothing. "Not even gonna say hello?"

Another one of the goons smacks him in the side of the head; this one's the kind of big that means he's probably called Tiny. Alex is keeping track of these things for when he has to tell Rhod what they look like. He is _going_ to get out of this. He just doesn't have a plan for it yet.

"He asked you a question," Tiny says.

"Ah, leave it," Weasel says, in a way that is both friendly and sinister at the same time. "We're not enemies here. We're just businessmen."

"This isn't the way the Taskmaster does business," Alex says, and he's pleased that his voice doesn't sound too hoarse, not leaving the level tone he uses with outsiders.

"Things are gonna go just fine for you, if the Taskmaster plays his cards right," Weasel says. "He gives us what we ask for, he gets his toy back, everybody goes home happy."

"I'm not worth what you think I am," Alex says.

"Don't say that," Weasel says, in a sickly sweet voice. "I'm sure he does care about you after all."

A third kidnapper steps into view, because at this point, it is clear to Alex that he has been kidnapped and is being held for ransom. This one has no teeth that Alex can see, which seems not out of character. "Ready," he says, handing over a folded-up letter. Weasel spoons sealing wax onto it, and Alex knows what's coming.

He bites down hard on his tongue as his thumb is pressed into the wax. It won't do to squirm.

\--

The House is on high alert before any second missive arrives, because everybody can see what's going on a mile off.

"I need you and everyone else to get to the safehouse," the Taskmaster says to Sally, once things are getting underway. "Take Jon and Hugh with you."

"We will be just fine here," Sally says. "You've never underestimated us before, and I don't know why you should start now."

Greg takes both her hands in his. "If they came for Alex, I don't know who they're coming for next."

Sally's face softens. "Alright," she says. "If it'll make you feel better."

"It really would," Greg says. "Tell everyone to get ready as soon as possible. If any of your clientele shows up and wants to start trouble, I _dare_ him to try it."

"Don't scare them too much," Sally says. "We don't need a bad reputation." She can't reach to kiss him even on her toes, so he bends down and meets her halfway. She puts a hand on the back of his neck, a soothing gesture, and he didn't know how much he needed it.

It takes some preparation to shut the front of the House down and set guards on it, but eventually the more delicate side of the operation leaves, under the protection of Jon's cricket bat and Sally's pepperbox. They've barely gone when a familiar face comes barrelling in, slapping the curtain to the side like it's annoyed him.

"Papaji, I got your message," Asim says, breathlessly; to get here so quickly he definitely didn't come on foot, but he almost certainly bolted into the House. "What's wrong? What do you need?"

Greg can't help himself; he pulls Asim into a hug, squeezing him tightly. "Somebody's got Alex."

"No," Asim says, his eyes going wide.

Greg happens to look past him, mostly because he's having trouble dealing with the look on Asim's face; there's a blond-haired man who's come in behind him, one that Greg doesn't recognize. "Who's he?"

"Hi," the man says from the doorway, looking around at the room like he's fascinated, like it's a glimpse at a foreign land. He doesn't seem to notice that the entire room is ready to draw weapons on him in a heartbeat.

"That's Russell," Asim says, pointing back at him. "He's my business partner. He's fine. He, um, doesn't know much about my past, but he's also too legit to know about the Taskmaster, so swings and roundabouts?"

"We'll take the help," Greg says.

"Anything for you," Asim says earnestly. "Whatever you need."

"I'm not going to get you involved in anything I'm doing here," Greg says firmly. He sacrificed a lot to give Asim the boost out of the criminal life that no one had ever offered him, and he isn't going back on that now. "I won't let you fall back into this. I just know that you have eyes in the legitimate world that I don't."

"What do you need me to look for, Papa?" Asim asks.

"Bring your friend over so he can hear this too," Greg says, and Asim motions for Russell to join them. "I don't think they're going to move him out of the city, at least not by water. What I need is places to look. Warehouses that might be abandoned, but not the ones that everyone knows are used by such and such outfit. Things like this."

"Oh yeah," Russell says. "We can knock that together in a few hours."

"Is that fast enough?" Asim asks Greg.

"Fast as you can," Greg says.

"Anything for you," Asim says; he squeezes Greg's hands, then he's off again, talking rapidly to Russell.

"Seems like we're doing this scattershot," Tim muses, looking over the letter from the kidnappers, which someone pinned to a table with a dagger.

"And?" the Taskmaster says.

"Hm?" Tim says. "Oh, that wasn't an insult. I was wondering how much wider we could scatter. Cover more ground that way."

The Taskmaster is considering this when a rock comes through one of the windows in the back hallway. Ed is out the door in an instant, looking for the thrower, but there's no sign. Attached to the rock is another letter, crumpled this time, but with the same ominous thumbprint stamp as the last one.

After everything, the ransom demand is almost comical in its simplicity. It outlines a price and a place, and assurances of bodily harm if the money is not turned over.

"What fucking small-time bullshit do they think we run here?" Roisin says.

"Unimportant," the Taskmaster says. He folds the letter back up, holding it in two fingers. "This isn't a ransom demand. This is a suicide note."

\--

They don't end up keeping Alex tied to the pipe for long. One of them makes the mistake of coming near him, and he makes an escape attempt. This doesn't go well for Alex, admittedly; Toothless is wearing a knife on his belt, but Alex fumbles the grab and nicks his finger instead of getting it into his hand. Weasel and Tiny untie him and hoist him up, carrying him to the other side of the room.

There's an iron cage, like you'd keep a dog in if you were cruel but large enough for Alex to fit in, and he gets summarily tossed in. He doesn't let himself think about any of the implications of them having a thing like that; he just tries to find the right position to rush someone if they open the door.

The wheels in Alex's brain are spinning, but they're not catching. He's stuck in a loop of evaluating the situation over and over, because he has no answer as to how he's going to get out of it. He's examined the facts of his predicament minutely, lining them up to create a picture of how fucked he is. He just doesn't have the first clue as to how to get it all unfucked.

They leave him alone for a while, and Alex tries getting out of the ropes. It's a dead end. They knew what they were doing when they tied him, if nothing else. Even though he's got his wrists tied in front of him, he can't get his ankles untied; he can't wiggle out of the ropes at all. They're digging into his skin, chafing him, and after a while Alex gives up, seeing the first flecks of blood against the hemp.

Alex just tries to breathe for a while. He lays down on his side in the cage, focusing on how his chest rises and falls, trying to regulate it. He's almost got it down when the door creeps open again.

It's Weasel, alone. The door shuts behind him, and Alex doesn't like anything about that. Weasel has no key in his hand, no indication that he's going to open the cage, and that's a little more promising. As long as he can keep those bars between them until Greg shows up, everything will be okay.

"I thought we might talk," Weasel says, and Alex sees that he has a knife in his hand, still closed. He forces himself to remain calm. Physical pain he can take; anything short of bleeding out is fine.

Weasel seems unbothered by the fact that Alex doesn't respond. He takes the knife and runs it across the bars; within the cage, the noise as it clicks against each one is surprisingly, uncomfortably loud. "What are you, exactly?" he says, like he's musing to himself. "You fascinate me."

Alex doesn't know what's going to happen, but it sounds bad. It sounds very bad. He's gone through all of this specifically not to be fascinating. He knows he's an oddity, but he's an accessory of the Taskmaster, like a pocketwatch of unusual design, something that makes the Taskmaster a bit more interesting but mostly goes with only a brief notice.

"How does a useless slut end up sitting at the right hand of someone like the Taskmaster?" Weasel asks. Alex's heart leaps into his throat; these are not words he wants to be hearing when he's tied up in a cage. "I know that you know what they say about you. Dogs get treated better. But you don't leave him. Why is that, I wonder?"

Alex feels like he's being flayed alive. On the one hand, there's a man in front of him with a knife who has Alex completely at his mercy, physically speaking; on the other hand, it feels like the whole of the Taskmaster is a thin sheet of ice on a rushing stream, that this man is going to put his foot through it and crack through Alex's entire existence, destroy everything Alex has worked for.

Weasel lets the knife clink against the bars again, and it's somehow louder. "You're not pretty," he says. "You don't seem very smart. Surely it's not just a reward for loyalty. Doesn't seem like much of a reward at all." He squats down, looking in at Alex. "Is he even coming to get you? Does he even know your _name_?"

Alex looks down and feels horrible about it. It feels like such a long time since Alex was taken. Maybe this was Greg's plan, taking the last step and becoming the Taskmaster in and of himself.

"Something to think about," Weasel says. He stands up and walks out, and Alex feels an immense and crushing regret that he was taken in at all, that for the briefest moment he blamed Greg for any of this. It was exactly what he was led to think, and he's betrayed Greg utterly in taking the bait.

At the end of the day, no matter what it feels like or what he makes it look like, Alex does not actually want to be harmed, physically or emotionally. Greg is not doing anything Alex doesn't want him to do. Rhod is not going to kill him. He likes to feel used and he likes to feel threatened, and he's never felt guilty about that before. It's only ever been his choice.

Right now, he feels _terrified_ , and he has no control over it at all.

\--

And then there's nothing, for almost sixteen hours.

A runner comes with Asim's list fairly quickly, and the Taskmaster dispatches Ed and Tim to take care of checking it. Iain is shaking down people for information; Romesh is with him, in case anyone has a problem with that.

Rhod is mostly sharpening his knives. Rhod's talents are specific in their focus.

There are a few opportunities for a catnap, and Greg doesn't begrudge anyone who takes one. He can't imagine it right now. He can't even imagine being alone in his room in the dark, where there would be nothing in there but himself. He can't fathom doing that when Alex is somewhere unknown, probably by himself too, defenseless.

After about twenty-six hours awake, he dozes off in the throne for half an hour, his hand resting on the arm of Alex's chair. He doesn't realize he's done it, even when he wakes up again. No one says anything about it; nobody would be that cruel. It's just a shame it doesn't last longer.

It's afternoon again, and the Taskmaster is standing over a crudely drawn map that Ed and Tim have produced, trying to figure out what his most appropriate plan of attack is. It's so much easier to do this when Alex is around. Alex sees things Greg just doesn't, and he also has been known to get Greg to go to sleep when he doesn't actually want to.

There's an insistent knocking at the back door, and everyone in the room reaches for a weapon. Dave makes a hand signal and slinks towards the door. A few seconds go by, and Dave calls out, in a thoroughly confused voice, "It's fucking Acaster."

"Christ's sake," the Taskmaster says. "Bring that little shit in here. If he doesn't have a damn good reason for being here, I'm going to kill him."

Dave comes back in pushing Acaster in front of him, and Acaster looks a little wild around the edges, more so than usual.

"What in the fuck could you _possibly_ want, Acaster?" the Taskmaster snaps.

"Sanctuary," Acaster says.

"Excuse me?" the Taskmaster says, raising an eyebrow; of all the things he expected, that was not among them.

"Just let me say the whole thing," Acaster says, holding up his hands. "I fell in with a bad crowd, yeah? Bit dodgy, couldn't be helped. Last two weeks, I've been on the job for them outside London, strictly no contact. I get back, there's your fucking assistant, all tied up, in a fucking _cage_." Greg's eyes grow wide. "Look, anything that might have happened between me and him, doesn't matter. I'm not a fucking kidnapper and I don't torture people."

Greg doesn't know how to talk anymore, and Roisin and Rhod carefully step in front of him, closing ranks to shield him. "The Taskmaster gives sanctuary in exchange for information," Roisin says.

"If you hold back, we'll fuckin' know," Rhod says.

"I'll tell you everything I know," Acaster says. "I swear on my life."

"Iain, Romesh, get his arms," Rhod says, and they grab him, even though Acaster doesn't resist. "With me."

They don't really drag Acaster away, but only because Acaster doesn't need to be dragged. Greg is left standing there, just looking towards the room where he's been taken. Greg can't seem to move, rooted to the spot, lost.

Roisin reaches up and slaps him sharply across the face. "Get it together," she says. "You can't do this right now."

Greg comes back to himself all at once. "Tell Nish to go to the Chairwoman," the Taskmaster says. "Tell him to ask her if she'll send Aisling, Rose, and Bosh back with him. I'll owe her twice over."

"So we're doing this," Roisin says, and it isn't a question. 

"I'll tear down the goddamn building around them if I have to," the Taskmaster says.

"What if they rabbit?" Roisin says.

"They're not getting the fucking chance," the Taskmaster says.

Rhod's back before five minutes are up. "Got everything we need," he says. "Or everything Acaster's got, anyway."

"What did you have to do to him?" the Taskmaster asks.

"Nothing," Rhod says. "Iain punched him in the stomach, but I think he was just trying to feel useful."

"How soon can we be ready?" the Taskmaster says.

Everyone just looks at each other for a moment.

"Ten minutes ago," Tim says finally.

\--

Sometimes the Taskmaster needs to prove a point.

When the Taskmaster's whole organization is working correctly, his point is proven without any displays of force. His whisper network goes about its business without even knowing it's growing his legend. He very rarely needs to even leave the House; he mostly does it just because it's interesting to get involved sometimes.

This time, things have gone a little differently. It is unimportant how they have gone, because the Taskmaster is going to solve the problem.

All six feet and eight inches of the Taskmaster unfolds from the back of the carriage and steps onto the street. He sets his hat on his head, adjusting its angle correctly before making sure his gloves are properly fastened. The building he's pulled up in front of is far too dilapidated to have such a carriage in front of it, one of the areas Asim identified as a possible hideout. There are people sticking their heads out of broken windows across the street, and doors audibly shut and bolt in other buildings.

The Taskmaster reaches back into the carriage and offers a hand down to a blond man. He puts his hand around the man's shoulders, as if to be companionable.

"You're going in first," the Taskmaster hisses into Acaster's ear. "If this goes wrong, you better hope they kill you, because if they don't, I'm going to rip you to pieces with my bare hands."

Acaster swallows, then walks up to the door. He raps on it in a specific sequence, and the door shifts open.

"Acaster, what are you-" the man behind the door says, and it's all he gets out before the Taskmaster shoots him in the forehead.

Acaster shoves the door open and steps in, and the Taskmaster waits for his signal before walking inside. Anyone inside the building who has decided to run will, at this point, discover that every exit is being covered, by people who have been in place for a half an hour by now. 

Better not run, then.

\--

Alex hears noises, scuffling, shouting. He does what he can to make himself as small as possible; the cage is free-standing, not against a wall, so he'll be obvious, no matter what he does. Perhaps if he curls up enough, he can be mistaken for something else, a dog, a sack, a corpse.

The door to the room slams open, letting in more sound, and feet rush towards his cage. Alex hunches more, though it's a lost cause.

"He's in here!" Tim calls, and Alex falls to pieces.

Ed has picks in his hand already, and he begins quickly working on the lock on Alex's cage. There's nothing special about it, just a curve of metal that Alex had no power over. Ed tosses the lock away and opens the door, and he and Tim pull Alex out of the cage. They each draw knives, sawing quickly through the ropes, freeing Alex as fast as possible.

"Come on," Ed says, and he and Tim help Alex up, an arm over each of his shoulders; Alex didn't realize how much he'd cramped up until he was allowed to stretch.

A figure ducks into the room, taking up most of the doorway, and Ed and Tim stop. "Give him to me," the Taskmaster says, and the two of them let Alex stand by himself. Alex feels sore and small, and he doesn't quite know how he's staying upright.

The Taskmaster hefts his assistant easily, carrying him over one shoulder. He walks back out the door, through the noise of the fighting, and back out to the carriage. He puts his assistant in, climbs in behind him, and hits the wall of the carriage twice.

The carriage glides back into the London streets and is gone.

\--

Greg wakes up, and Alex isn't next to him.

He has no conception of what time it is or how long he's been asleep. When they got back to the House, Alex was in no fit state; Greg couldn't bear to try to get out of him what had happened. He let Greg undress him and wash him, though he wouldn't eat. Greg tried to put him to bed, but he wouldn't turn Greg loose. Greg climbed into bed with him, holding him, and it was maybe five minutes before it caught up with both of them and they passed out.

Now Greg is groggy, disoriented, and alone, and he doesn't like any of those things.

He gets out of bed, stretching and yawning. He doesn't know if he can handle the Taskmaster right now, but he's going to have to make do; they need the Taskmaster, and nobody can do it but Greg.

This is what he thinks, until he opens the door to his room. Dave is sitting outside, playing with, of all things, a cat's cradle.

"Sorry, boss," Dave says. "Can't let you go out there."

"Excuse me?" Greg says.

"Orders of Rhod and Roisin," Dave says. "And, well, everybody. We've got this."

Greg considers this for a moment, then decides it's not the hill he wants to die upon. "Where's Alex?"

"Getting you some food," Dave says. "He'll be along shortly."

"Huh," Greg says. "Well, you know where to find me."

It really isn't long before Alex comes back, carrying something to eat for both of them. Alex still isn't saying anything, so Greg sits down on the couch along the wall and pats the seat next to him. Alex doesn't argue, leaning into Greg's side, and they eat like that, the whole thing passing without comment.

"So when are we going to talk?" Greg says, after they've finished, when Alex is still leaning against him.

"I need you to tie me up," Alex says.

"Alex, your wrists are raw," Greg says, equal parts concerned and stunned. "I won't do that."

"You have to," Alex says, and he looks more fragile than Greg has ever seen him. "I- when they- they took something that belongs to you, and I need you to take it back. Nobody's supposed to do that to me without your permission."

"What else did they take?" Greg asks, his stomach in a knot.

"They didn't want my body," Alex says. "They wanted to get into my head. Maybe someday I can tell you what they said. Not right now."

Greg feels lost, unsteady, so he tries to chop it into pieces. "Take off your clothes and get on the bed," he says, and Alex does it. "There's no way I can put rope against your skin, so I'm going to put something around your wrists before I tie you up. You have to promise me you're not going to use it to slip them."

"Alright," Alex says. "I have some gloves, that might be easiest."

"Yeah, that'll do," Greg says, undressing and laying his clothes over the arm of the couch.

"Top of my wardrobe," Alex says, indicating it with his head.

There are in fact a pair of gloves, reaching to an appropriate length; they don't have buttons, and they even have a soft lining. There's no way Alex would last two seconds tied up in them without pulling his hand straight out.

Greg straddles him and slides the gloves onto Alex's hands, one at a time, kissing the palms. "You're going to stay in these, because I told you to," he says. "You want this, so you have to stay put."

"Yes, sir," Alex says.

"Hands above your head," Greg says, and Alex does it. He loops the rope around Alex's wrists over the gloves, making them snug but not painful. "How's that?"

"Fine," Alex says, sounding decidedly not fine.

Greg sits back, resting on Alex's thighs. "Tell me what you want."

"I want you so much, sir," Alex says, shutting his eyes.

"What's in your head, darling?" Greg murmurs.

Alex opens his eyes again, and Greg doesn't know what to do with what he sees in them. Alex is always so sure, even when he's at a disadvantage; he's not now. "Do you want me?"

"I just snuffed out an entire gang for you," Greg says, but he can tell that's not what Alex meant. "Of course I do. Why wouldn't I?"

"And you'd never-" Alex says, but he falls short.

"Never what, Alex?" Greg says. "I'd never send you away or find someone to replace you or cause you any harm. You're mine, and nobody else's." It's not getting through, somehow; Alex is turning his wrists in the gloves, like he's testing the ropes. Maybe it's just that Greg's not being forceful enough, not giving Alex the strong hand he likes.

"This body is mine to do what I like with, and I'm going to keep doing it," Greg says, running his fingernails down Alex's chest. "Do you understand why?" He bites the sensitive inside of Alex's arm, hard enough that Alex hisses. "Because you gave yourself to me, and I took you up on it. And now I'm hooked." He kisses the spot where he just bit, like he's soothing it. "I can't imagine what I would do without you."

"You'd get by," Alex says.

Greg frowns. "You've never been upset that we sleep with other people, and I'm not going to let you hide behind some fake jealousy now," he says, starting to feel genuinely irritated. "You know it's the two of us. You know having fun with someone else doesn't matter. You are not the same thing to me as any of them."

Alex sighs. "I know."

"So, as I said, there's no getting by for me anymore," Greg says. "I want you more than I can stand, and I know you want me too. That's the sum of it." He kisses Alex's forehead. "You're mine." A kiss to his cheek. "You're never getting away again." Alex looks like he wants to protest, and a flash of anger bolts through Greg all of a sudden. "Don't you dare fucking contradict me. Do you have the fucking _gall_ to lay there and tell me I don't know what the fuck I want?"

Something in Alex snaps. "I'm sorry, sir," he says, his voice thick. "I'm so sorry."

"Hey, come here," Greg says, rolling them so that Alex is resting on top of him. "Everything's alright now. You're with me. You're always gonna be with me." He strokes Alex's back, letting Alex shake against him without letting him go. "All this could have happened to anyone, and some of them wouldn't have survived it. All that matters is that you did, and now you're home."

It's a while before Alex's shoulders finally slump, the tension easing somewhat. "I didn't want to cry in front of you."

"You've done it before," Greg says. He tips Alex's face up to kiss him. "It really is okay. I'm so relieved you're home. I just need you to relax, and I'll tend to your wounds." He runs his fingers through Alex's hair. "Do you want me to untie you?"

"No," Alex says. "I really- I was serious about that."

"Then don't worry about it," Greg says. "Is there anywhere you need me not to touch you?"

Alex sighs. "I need you to touch me _everywhere._ "

"Sounds like a challenge, but I'll accept," Greg says.

Greg does his level best. Whatever happened to Alex, it doesn't seem to be physical; he presses up into Greg's hands, not shying away as if bruised or otherwise harmed. There are still tears, but they're interspersed with begging, for Greg to do more and please not let him go. Greg is powerless to do anything but give him everything he wants. He's never wanted to deprive him, not really; even when he's acted like it, it's because he was giving Alex what he needed, making it as good for Alex as he possibly could.

Afterwards they're lying there, side by side, facing each other; Alex did slip the ropes when he was tired of them, but Greg isn't going to punish him for it, not when it was his idea all along.

"Hmm, what did you miss?" Greg says. "Asim sends his best. I owe Liza several more favors than I wanted to. But mostly you missed a lot of planning and upset." He hesitates. "I should probably tell you about Acaster."

Alex looks at him warily. "What about Acaster?"

"He tipped us off about where you were," Greg says. "Ended up on the wrong side of the fence, flipped as soon as he found out about what they'd done. He doesn't want to be you, not anymore, if he ever did. He's seen the dangers outweigh the benefits."

Alex sighs. "We're taking him on, aren't we."

"You make the call, but I wanted you to know," Greg says. He puts a hand on Alex's hip. "But for now, put him out of your mind."

Neither of them speak for a while, just lying there, occupying the same space. Greg puts his chin on the top of Alex's head, holding him close, the two of them breathing next to each other.

It's broken when Alex rolls over, looking up at the ceiling instead of Greg's face. Greg doesn't like anything about that.

"The Taskmaster and the assistant have to change," Alex says.

"What the hell do you mean?" Greg says, alarmed.

"You didn't accomplish this with any level of subtlety," Alex says. "You acted like you'd move Heaven and Earth to get me back."

"Wasn't acting, but go on," Greg says, and suddenly they're back to it, the weird, antagonistic energy they had just before.

"People aren't going to buy it anymore," Alex says. "You came for me with too much force. You should have handled it less personally."

"If you think I'll apologize, fucking think again," Greg says.

"You showed your hand," Alex says. "You proved you valued me more than you let on."

"Then what does that mean for us?" Greg asks, and there is silence. He takes a breath, letting it out. "What does it look like if it doesn't look like it did?"

"That's up to both of us," Alex says, which is very different from the last time they talked about the Taskmaster.

Why not go for broke; if they're renegotiating this, Greg's going to start with the worst of it. "I hate that people think I'm a rapist," he says.

He'd like for Alex to assure him it's not that way, but they both know better. "Then maybe we start there," Alex says. "I pretend I hate you using me. I can stop pretending." He doesn't say anything for a moment, but Greg doesn't interrupt. "I think in general, you have to tone down how cruel you are to me."

"Is that going to make it all cave in?" Greg asks, because it seems like a huge change.

"If we shade it correctly, then no," Alex says. "You can still be jealous and capricious. The assistant should be something you hoard, something that belongs to you. It's okay if it's a thing that you actually like possessing."

"And this won't paint a target on your back?" Greg says.

Alex snorts. "After that display? No one will ever lay a finger on me again."

"So we just sort of let it-" Greg says, making a hand motion- "shift?"

"I think this might be easier if we seemed less at odds and more like a pair," Alex says. He swallows. "Like we like each other."

"You said that," Greg says. "I want you to say what you actually meant."

Alex doesn't speak for a while. "Like we love each other," he amends.

"I do love you, you know," Greg says.

"I know," Alex says. "I've loved you for some time. I couldn't admit it until now."

Greg takes his hand, kissing the back of it. "We're a team, okay?" he says. "It's been you and me since the day you sent Nish to my door. It's going to keep on being you and me."

"Do you mean that?" Alex says.

"Always have," Greg says. "Don't know why you think I'd stop now."

"I-" Alex says. "Maybe I just need to hear it."

"That I can do," Greg says, and he pulls Alex to him. He whispers it into his skin, and not for the last time.

\--

The thing about crime is that you don't have to be unhappy while you do it.

The campaigners would like for you to think that everyone who wields a knuckleduster or a revolver is a deeply malcontented person. The problem is that it's just not true. You can have any kind of opinion of your lot in life while you commit crimes, just as you can have any kind of opinion when you're living a life of perfect virtue.

And at the House, increasingly, they're having a good time. Things are lighter. One might even say they're kinder, which seems ridiculous but just might be true.

"Just got a note from Wilkinson," the assistant says, sitting down next to the Taskmaster.

"What, again?" the Taskmaster says.

"Afraid so," his assistant says.

"I really hoped he had improved, for all our sakes," the Taskmaster says.

"You could always cut him off," his assistant says.

"It doesn't seem fair," the Taskmaster says.

"You mean that you're having too much fun with him," his assistant says.

The Taskmaster cracks a smile. "Don't go giving away all my secrets."

"Wouldn't dream of it," his assistant says.

It's covered up by everything else in the room, an ultimately friendly argument, a disbelieving laugh, other things that draw the eye. You'd miss it if you weren't paying attention closely.

But his assistant grins.


End file.
